


IN TROUBLE DEEP

by EleventhDay



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Cullen's an English teacher, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Vampires are Known, vampire Dorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EleventhDay/pseuds/EleventhDay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are good vampires, as there are bad vampires. The former's admittedly taken him a while to accept, but he has, nonetheless. He just prefers to keep his distance, which is much harder to do when his best friend happens to have a vampire relative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CROSSHAIRS

"You remember that relative of mine that I mentioned?" Cullen doesn't look up from the essays he's grading, although from the beginning paragraph of the one he is reading now, it is tempting to set down his pen for a while. Instead, he forges on, humming affirmatively, and that's enough of an answer for Trevelyan to continue. Cullen has re-entered his grading mode, however, sinking into the poorly worded world of an alternate ending for "Rappaccini's Daughter." This paper will be mostly red by the time he is finished with it. "-told him he could stay here for a while, if it's okay with you!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that's fine." His answer is automatic, the blonde frowning and underlining a forgotten capitalization. It sinks in a beat later, and he looks up so quickly the glasses nearly fall from his nose. "Wait, what?"  
  
Trevelyan smirks from where he's sitting, perched at the edge of the table, which Cullen would chastise him for, if he weren't busy trying to remember what, exactly, he has just agreed to. "I _said_ that Dorian needs a place to stay while he's getting his feet under him. There's that empty guest room of yours, so I thought you wouldn't mind having him here." He purses his lips. As a teacher, his schedule is...somewhat consistent, but there are days he works late into the night, and he is awake quite early. Cullen is a very picky roommate as well, according to the roommates he had in college. "Look, he's a nice guy, really. Gorgeous, too." He winks, and he can feel a flush filling his cheeks.

"First of all, that's disgusting, you're _related-_ "

"-distantly," he butts in, and Cullen silences him with a glare, before continuing.

"And secondly, I don't care what he looks like. Thirdly, get off my table." With a pout, Trevelyan slides off of it- and yes, the grown man pouts, like a chagrined five year old. To think Cullen nearly chose to deal with that on a daily basis by considering teaching at an elementary school. "Now, I don't know Dorian."  
  
"You know me!"  
  
"You tried to convince me to eat a wild mushroom."  
  
"We were twelve!" Cullen glares again, and Trevelyan sighs. "If you don't want him to stay, then I can set him up at a hotel or something. I just thought it would be nice for him to be, you know, around someone I trust. That's all." He has Cullen now. He doesn't give any sign of knowing it, but he very likely does, and the blonde finally huffs, tugging off his glasses to rub at his nose.

"Okay. How long will he be here?"  
  
"Just until he gets his own place." Trevelyan's grinning now, ear to ear, white teeth flashing with dark dimples. How Cassandra can resist his puppy-ish charm, Cullen will never know. "This is going to be great! You guys are going to get along really well, I know it."

"Right. When is he coming?" Just as he asks, there doorbell sounds, and he jerks, glancing at his watch. It's seven, and he's not expecting anyone, and slowly, he looks to Trevelyan, whose smile has turned sheepish. "We will have words later." The other man nods, and Cullen's up from the chair, tugging self-consciously at his rumpled work clothes. He straightens up, and finally pulls the door open, only to be rendered immediately speechless. He'd like to credit it to how _attractive_ the man is, with his groomed hair, and distinct cheekbones. There might be some familial resemblance there, but again, those things, while distracting, are not as eye-catching as the very telling band around his wrist.

From behind him, he hears Trevelyan extending a greeting to Dorian, except the man doesn't so much as glance his way, watching Cullen carefully. "Aren't you going to let him in?" Almost against his will, Cullen shifts to the aside, allowing the slightly taller man - _vampire-_ to enter, and he does, but he keeps a careful eye on Cullen as he pulls his luggage with him. Cullen shuts the door mechanically, and when he turns around, Trevelyan and Dorian are engaged in some kind of silent conversation, using only their eyes. Cullen's gaze drops to the band around Dorian's wrist. It's not the standard, platinum build, but a sleeker version, more stylish; even so, there's no mistaking it as the marker that it is. Vampires are required, by universal law, to wear the bands. He can remember a few protests over it, but the majority of the vampire community seems to know better.

"I can go, if this is a problem." Dorian's words -and _that voice_ sends the wrong kind of shivers down his spine, the kind that are warm and the opposite of fearful- are careful, too, like the rest of him. Cullen thinks Trevelyan's mentioned how witty this man is in the past, how he's charming, but now, he seems very mindful of where he walks.

"It's not a problem, right Cullen? This is the guy I was telling you about, Dorian."

"The one you neglected to inform about my vampirism?" All of them are still at that, but to be fair, Cullen hasn't moved since he closed the door. Trevelyan's staring at him now, chewing on his bottom lip, while Dorian's staring intently at the far wall.

"I swear I thought I mentioned it, but you know how I-" Trevelyan's off on the beginnings of a ramble, and Cullen is quick to interject, despite how numb and shocked he is.

"Calm down. This doesn't change anything." Dorian looks over at him sharply when Cullen finishes, and he swallows in response. His palms are beginning to sweat, and he only now realizes they are clenched into fists, so he forcibly releases the shape, and then folds his hands behind his back. It's painfully formal, but he needs to put them somewhere, and it gives him an opportunity to discreetly dig his fingernails into his palm. "He can still stay."

No one says anything for a moment, but some of the tension dissolves, or so Cullen hopes. His own is hopelessly taut, and he is painfully aware of his rabbiting pulse that threatens to run off with his reason. This is Dorian, Trevelyan's relative, someone Cullen's best friend is clearly fond of, and he thought highly enough of Cullen to promise Dorian a room before receiving actual permission. Or so he assumes. Trevelyan has a habit to forego asking permission for things. "Right then. I will be out of your hair as soon as I can." Dorian smiles, and that is when Cullen can see a glimpse of the person Trevelyan referenced, but he doubts it's a coincidence that the smile is so perfectly close-lipped as to hide any hint of fangs.

* * *

An hour later, Trevelyan is gone, and Dorian has settled into the guest room. The apartment's as quiet as ever, with Dorian still in the bedroom, and it leaves Cullen time to finish grading papers. It's difficult to concentrate, however, and he swears he can feel eyes on him, but every time he glances up, the hallway is empty. It's frustrating, and distracting, but he does manage to shove his way through the final essays, glad he had graded most of them prior to Dorian's surprise appearance.

He exhales softly, a headache shadowing his temples. Cullen cleans up his work, and as he prepares himself for bed, clad in pajamas, he knocks tentatively on Dorian's door. He doesn't expect it to open, revealing the man in a...not unusual state of undress, but the lack of a shirt is very, very... "Yes?" Cullen jerks back to himself, and he can feel himself flushing again, hoping the poor lighting disguises it, except from the faint smirk curling Dorian's lips, it's noticeable regardless.  
  
"I just. Thought I would ask if you need anything." His hand twitches at his side with the urge to rub the back of his neck, but he forces himself to keep from fidgeting, instead waiting for Dorian's reply, which does not come quickly. The beats of silence drag on, with the dark haired man unabashedly studying Cullen from the doorway. Finally, when Cullen's considering a retreat, he speaks.

"Ah, no, don't trouble yourself. Good night." The door is shut immediately after, leaving Cullen to, in a slight daze, enter the safety of his own bedroom and crawl beneath the covers.

Sleep is a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the first chapter, sorry it's short! Hopefully I will be able to keep updates fairly consistent  
> If there are any typos/mistakes, don't be shy to point them out!  
> Penny for your thoughts?


	2. NO PRIEST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the interest, guys, and here's the next chapter! If you see any typos, please let me know

Dorian rarely leaves his room, not when Cullen is home. He knows it's his fault for being so blatantly uneasy, and he would fix it, if he knew how to; he doubts any of his attempts to repair their acquaintanceship will be successful, because he'll very likely sabotage each himself, by either having more obvious anxiety, or not seeming sincere enough. Even if he were confident in his ability, actually catching Dorian? That poses a problem. With work to worry about, he doesn't exactly have the time to wait outside the man's door, since knocking has had...poor results. It has Cullen feeling incredibly guilty, despite the constant churning in his gut indicative of a fear he has spent years doing his best to forget.

He mentions it, vaguely, to Trevelyan, after three days have passed. It's more of a side comment in an already short text, but when he wakes on Thursday, it's to the smell of coffee permeating the entire apartment. He has time yet to get ready, so he drags himself from his bed and shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing at bleary eyes. He's too surprised and groggy to care much for how horrendous he knows his hair must be, curls unruly and utterly untamed. Instead, he's focusing on the image of a neatly put together Dorian, puttering about Cullen's kitchen, looking far more familiar with it than someone who barely leaves should be. "Good morning," he greets, nearly absently, and he's filling a second mug with what appears to be the divine savior of Cullen's existence. He must make a sound, because Dorian's glancing his way with what he thinks is an amused quirk to his mouth. "Oh? Did you want something?"

It's too early for teasing, and too early for more than a momentary flash of worry. "Coffee," he manages to mumble, dropping down into a chair at the nearby table, and inhaling deeply. He's more tired than usual, on account of being unable to sleep well knowing there's a vampire under the same roof for the first time since- the thought is cold water dumped over his head, and he finds he's waking more quickly now. There's a steaming cup placed in front of him, a distraction he can, for once, be thankful for, and he lowers his hands from his face to offer Dorian a tentative smile. He's trying, isn't he? Baby steps first.

Dorian's eyebrow raises, but he doesn't comment, merely settling into the chair across from him with his own mug. Cullen takes a sip, a small one, because he doesn't think Dorian knows how he takes his coffee. However, it's surprisingly...palatable, if a little sweeter than usual, but Cullen doesn't mind that. He takes a bigger drink the next time, despite the heat, and he's more awake now, enough to wonder how vampires can drink coffee. "So..." He trails off, and Dorian glances at him from over his cup as he tilts it to his mouth. "I just. Wanted to apologize for being a terrible host." It all comes out in a rush, and he stares at the table when he's finished, but he does peek at the vampire's face when the silence reigns for a few beats. He's being studied again, and he wouldn't have to look up to know that.

"It seems you've beaten me to the apology." Cullen's gaze is on the long fingers clasped around the glass, and the various rings adorning several of them. He finds the band, too, tracing the sleek curve of it on a- is it strange to call a man's wrists pretty? "The coffee is only half of my apology. A certain relative of mine can be very...persuasive."

"He sent you a picture of his puppy dog eyes, didn't he." It's not a question, because Cullen knows the man well enough by now to be familiar with his tactics.

"He should have been a salesman. Imagine all the shit products he could have sold just through his pouting prowess."

"Like that Twitter toilet paper?"

"You heard about that too?"

"Yeah, from Trevelyan." The two stare at each other for a moment, before they each let out a burst of laughter, and Cullen finds that much of his discomfort has fled in the face of Dorian's smile. Of course, thinking of that ruins it completely, and he clears his throat, looking back down at the table.

Dorian's evidently not content letting the quiet take hold again, because then he's asking,"Why do you call him that, by the way?" At Cullen's confused expression, the vampire elaborates,"Trevelyan. You call him that instead of Marcus."

"Oh. That's- it's pretty stupid, actually. It started when we were kids." There's a second where Dorian appears...regretful, or perhaps something else, but it's gone, almost as if Cullen imagined it. "He bet I couldn't pronounce his last name, when we first met. Then it just stuck." He shrugs, before glancing to the clock on the stove, and realizing he's wasted more time than he should have. "I need to-" He jerks his thumb in the direction of his room, and Dorian shoos him away with a hand.

* * *

When Cullen pushes back into the apartment, after a day spent dealing with rowdy freshmen, he's surprised to find the entire place has been cleaned. Thoroughly. Dorian's even in the middle of straightening the several books kept on the small coffee table. "You're sooner than I thought you would be."

"Are you...cleaning?" It's a stupid, obvious question, but it's out before he can help himself.

"Terrible, isn't it? These hands weren't made for scrubbing counters, you know." He wriggles said fingers at the blonde, the band on his wrist jangling. "There goes my manicure."

"You didn't have to." The vampire huffs, looking a step away from rolling his eyes.

"You didn't have to take me in, yet here we are." He spreads out his hands, and not for the first time, Cullen sees just how expressive he can be. "So relax, and enjoy floors clean enough to eat off of." Pointedly, Cullen steps with a shoe onto linoleum, and this time, Dorian does roll his eyes.

A few hours later, as Cullen's bent over a plate of macaroni, and grading papers with his other hand, he catches sight of Dorian, curled up on the couch with a book. The apartment is fairly open, so it doesn't involve much effort.

Cullen can't help but notice that he hasn't once seen him eat. Or drink. Whatever they call it. He clears his throat, causing Dorian to glance up from the novel. "You haven't...eaten anything," he says, and it's not easy to give voice to the concern. It must not be easy to hear it either, because he can see the slight stiffening in Dorian's posture.

"Curious, are we?" Cullen bites his lip.

"Forget I asked, then." He drops his gaze back down to his dinner, and it's when he's finished grading several vocabulary quizzes that Dorian speaks.

"I know better than to do that in front of someone afraid of what I am." The blonde drops his pen, taken completely off guard.

"I- that's not- I don't-" Dorian raises a hand as he stands from the couch, tucking his novel beneath his arm.

"As adorable as the stuttering is, you don't have to explain yourself. I've heard it all before." He disappears down the hall, and Cullen flinches when he hears the door shut, even though it's only a dull click.

He drops his forehead into his palm, rubbing at his temples. Just when he thought things were improving. He had to go and open his mouth, didn't he? Cullen sighs, standing up from the table to set his dishes in the sink, before he's back to slogging through more quizzes, with a monotonous, even calming cycle of tallying and circling.

When he's dressed and ready for bed, he again goes to Dorian's door, against his better judgment. He wants to apologize, but Dorian didn't seem interested in getting one from him. Chances are, he won't be wanting anything from the blonde man, and that thought alone is enough to have him wondering what, exactly, made Trevelyan believe they could get along, especially after- after everything.

He raps his knuckles against the door, quietly. "Dorian?" There's no response. "I'm- Good night." Cullen can't even apologize properly. Typical.

* * *

He's cold. He can't feel the tips of his fingers, and he's...drained completely. He can barely move, not that he could- there are ropes around his wrists, he thinks.

"Perfect." Frigid, frigid fingers burn a brand into the side of his neck, and he doesn't have the energy to cringe. They dance across his shoulder, and down his arm, where they pause along the- along the-

There's a needle in his arm, and he can only stare at it, the dark red flowing through the plastic tube so bright against the pale, too pale skin. "So sweet. Much sweeter than the others."

"No." When his lips move, the voice leaving them is quiet, barely a whisper. He doesn't have enough saliva in his mouth to wet his cracked lips, but he tries anyway. "No."

"Oh, yes." The words are spoken into his ear, a freezing trickle that smells like rot and something sickly saccharine. His lungs are full of it, until he's choking, and he can't breathe, and he's _so cold, why is he cold, please just make it stop-_

He wakes, gasping and shaking, hands on his shoulders, Dorian's concerned face filling his vision. "-ullen?" With clumsy, uncooperative hands, he shoves at the vampire, breath still caught in his throat, the scent of decay still heavy in his nose.

Cullen stumbles from his bed, nearly tripping several times on his way to the bathroom, where he shoves the lid up on the toilet and dry heaves into the bowl. His throat burns, eyes squeezed shut, but that only gives the memories a canvas to project onto, so he pries them back open to stare into white porcelain.

"Cullen." Dorian doesn't try to touch him again, which is best for the both of them. "What do you need?"

"Water?" He croaks, glancing up at the dark haired man. Cullen can't bring himself to care enough that he's in such a state, but he knows he will later. There is a very short list of people he feels semi-comfortable being so vulnerable with.

He exhales, resting his cheek across the edge of the toilet and closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Dorian's there, holding a glass of water. Cullen accepts it gratefully, drinking it down until the glass is empty. "Let's get you back into bed." He can't do much to protest, Dorian gently pulling him from the floor, and he doesn't touch him after that, leaving Cullen to make his way back on unsteady legs.

He sinks into the mattress, but he's still tense, and his heart rate hasn't slowed from its panicked gallop. "Wait." The quiet word halts Dorian in his place at the door. "Can you- that is, if you-"

Dorian's gone before he can properly manage a sentence, and his fingers tighten around the covers, throat closing. He's pathetic, he knows. Why he thought he would even-

There's a soft shuffling, and Dorian re-enters the bedroom, carrying a chair from the table to set it at the side of Cullen's bed. He almost wishes he had left him, because this- it's humiliating. Shame heats his cheeks, joining the fear to create the worst concoction of nerves. The lights go dark, and he inhales sharply, but he's not alone.

None of this is ideal. He's just had a nightmare he hasn't dealt with in months, in front of a vampire he barely knows, and the same vampire is now bothering to sit with him while he sleeps, because Cullen is worse than a toddler.

"Good night." He almost misses it, but he catches Dorian's murmured phrase, and he feels warmer than he has since he fell asleep the first time.


	3. FADE INTO THE DARK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may begin to slow down, because I'm going to be busy for a little while, but I will do my best to keep this updated!

 When Cullen wakes, Dorian is gone. The chair isn't there either, and he isn't sure whether or not to be glad that he's woken up in solitude. He doesn't think he could face Dorian after everything that happened, yet there's a part of him glad for the company, despite how averse he is to it most of the time. In the moment, it was surprisingly easy to accept comfort from him, despite the fact he happens to be a vampire, the very cause for Cullen's dream. He can't find an explanation for that, in the jumbled condition of his mind, still recovering from the embarrassment and the sleep he missed, but he doesn't spend time on that, slipping out of his bed and beginning the routine of preparing himself for work. Admittedly, he doesn't need to do so immediately, because he has always made certain there is wiggle room in his schedules, as with the coffee and chat with Dorian yesterday, but he isn't ready to face him just now.

He sets about taming his wet curls after his shower, combing through them with gel on his fingers, slicking them back. Once he's satisfied with the job, the blonde exits the joined bathroom with a towel around his waist, only to leap backwards when he sees that Dorian's walking in with a mug of coffee. His grip on the towel is almost to the point of having white knuckles. Going without a shirt has never been an issue for Cullen, but he's- he's nearly naked, and in front of Dorian. For some reason, that last part has an even greater emphasis in his mind than the first, and he can feel the blush creeping down his neck. They stare at each other for several seconds, but he does notice that Dorian is markedly less bothered than Cullen, although with how much darker Dorian's skin is, finding a blush wouldn't be easy from this distance.

"That blush of yours goes down even farther than I thought." Before Cullen can even think of formulating a reply, the vampire backs out, closing the door as he goes. He shuts his mouth, still far too warm, especially when he considers the fact Dorian just admitted to thinking about Cullen. Cullen blushing, specifically. It only has the flush heating even more, and as he dresses hurriedly, he also realizes that it's likely they're going to forget last night even happened. Cullen should be grateful for that, he knows, but despite the brief moments of surprising ease in interacting with Dorian, it will not be the last time the memories will follow him into his sleep, so the chances of Dorian finding him like that again are high, possibly guaranteed.

Finishing with the buttons on his shirt, he realizes he still isn't ready to face him, even more so now that he has not one, but two embarrassing situations between them. He finds himself questioning why, again, Trevelyan chose him for Dorian to room with; the man has no shortage of friends, and many of them are in better places than the apartment he has. A man he's only ever heard referred to as Bull supposedly has a fairly spacious house; he shares it with some friends, but nonetheless, they must be more welcoming than Cullen himself is. Trevelyan knows Cullen's discomfort with vampires, and that it has persisted, though he might have considered this some sort of rehabilitation, involving him defeating the terrible memories with more worthy ones. The only memories he's made with Dorian, however, are of Cullen completely screwing everything up, and Dorian suffering the results. All this is fixing is his belief he was improving- clearly, he hasn't been.

He slips out of his room, satchel over his shoulder, and he sees Dorian sitting at the table, the mug he'd been holding earlier sitting before the empty chair at his front. He swallows, tightening his grip on the strap, before forcing himself closer to slide into the chair.

"I was wondering-"

"I should have-" They both stare at each other, after speaking at the same time, and Cullen clears his throat, gesturing for the vampire to go first. "Ah, as I was saying, I should have knocked. I forget myself sometimes." The blonde shrugs to pass it off, despite the embarrassment it caused him; that part is his fault, not Dorian's. "It's your turn, now."

Cullen reaches for the coffee, pulling it closer, and he hates how uncertain he is about everything now. He can't walk on eggshells forever. "I was wondering if everything's going okay. I know I've been...difficult."

"Difficult? You?" A snort of laughter, more ungainly than he would expect from him, leaves Dorian's mouth, which has the makings of a smile. "You've been saintly. I should be the one asking if my staying here is still all right with you." The vampire visibly sobers, mirth gone from gray eyes, and he folds his hands on the table, ringed fingers catching the light. "Is it?"

"Of course!" He must say it too quickly because Dorian's expression shifts, brow furrowing, and he inhales, pausing before he does what he can to smooth this over. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"On the contrary, I think it has everything to do with me." There's a sharpness to the words, but the blade seems turned inward, toward Dorian himself, rather than aimed for Cullen.

"No, it doesn't." Cullen can't help the teacher firmness that seeps into his voice, the tone he uses when he's needed to tell a student to "stop kicking Amanda's chair." That is nowhere near the gravity of this situation, however, and he clenches his jaw. This is what happens when he can't get ahold of himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend for you to think that I-" He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, Dorian hasn't looked away yet. "It's my problem. Not yours." Dorian's lips part for an answer, but Cullen stands before he can, briefly regretting that he hasn't had time for the coffee, but he'll buy some with breakfast on the way. He just needs to get out of this, and it isn't fleeing if he does have to work. "I should be going."

"Have a good day," Dorian settles for, sounding mild, and Cullen nods. He pats his pockets to be sure he has his keys, and with a tighter than usual grip on his satchel, he takes his leave.

* * *

When Cullen returns, all too thankful that it's Friday and he can have some semblance of relaxation, he finds Cullen pacing the room, phone to his ear and rapid curses falling out of his mouth, some of them in a language he doesn't understand.

"Oh, of _course._ Why don't you say it already? 'How dare I go off to associate with the cattle! How dare I want something for myself that isn't your damned delusion of a future!' Is that so difficult to say?" He knows now that he has never been the recipient of Dorian's true anger, not like this, and he knows he should give him privacy, but he's rooted to where he stands. The vampire's free hand is gesturing furiously, occasionally lifting to wind long fingers through dark hair, usually so perfectly neat that seeing it like this is almost disconcerting. "Go fuck yourself, and find some other starring role in your play, because I am _done._ " Cullen imagines, if Dorian had been on a telephone, that he would have slammed it, but he only taps the screen and tosses it on the couch, exhaling heavily. He finally seems to notice him standing here, straightening when he does.

"Sorry, I-" Dorian holds up a hand, shaking his head.

"No more apologies. Please." Cullen quiets himself immediately, briefly glancing to the hallway, and then back to Dorian, who is slowly sinking down onto the couch. He should give him his space. What happened isn't any of Cullen's business, and he wishes he'd given him privacy, but it's too late for that now. He needs to focus on what to do, not what he did, and the direction of his thoughts automatically veers to last night, to the warm press of Dorian's hand on his back that one moment he'd helped Cullen rise, and to the way he sat in a chair to watch over him, as though the blonde were a child again.

Decision made, he drops the satchel off at the table, and he lowers himself on the couch as well, but he keeps a careful distance between them, just in case. Dorian isn't facing him, his gaze set forward, allowing Cullen to see his profile in full, with the nicely curved line of his jaw, the neat curl of what should be a ridiculous mustache, which is set above full lips- He shakes that trail of observation away, chastising himself because the slight wrinkles around Dorian's eyes are from stress. Cullen knows, as he's seen them shadow his own often enough. He won't allow something as trivial as attraction to come between them, especially when he can't say there's actually anything _between them_ other than an unsteady tolerance. Dorian's help hasn't gone unnoticed, but Cullen's simply uncertain where he stands with the vampire.

"Is there anything I can do?" He doesn't bother to ask if Dorian's all right, because he isn't, and he won't waste time on ineffectual platitudes. 

The dark haired man turns his head after a beat or two, and the rest of him shifts along with it. Cullen counts it as a win that he's earned Dorian's full attention. "No, unless you happen to specialize in singlehandedly uprooting the expectations of a society."

Cullen swallows, and answers, "Can't say that I do." Dorian sighs, but it's not as though he could have been expecting a _yes;_ no single person can be capable of that.

"Ah. Pity." Silence falls, and in his lap, Cullen's hands clench. Dorian had helped him so effortlessly last night, smoothing over his terror, and later seeming to acquiesce with his request to mind his own, which, Cullen knows now, was a stupid thing to ask of him. Especially, when in hindsight, it wasn't as awful as he thought it was, having Dorian there to ground him, somehow doing so by saying hardly a thing. The rest of Cullen just hasn't received the memo yet that continuing to be afraid will take him nowhere.

"We could go out, if you wanted. It's Friday. There's...a museum." He winces when he finishes, except when he braves a look at Dorian, there's no sign of disgust, or even a "what the hell Cullen?" that he gets from Trevelyan sometimes. Instead, he seems pensive. Thoughtful. As though he's truly considering Cullen's offer to take him to a museum, of all the places to visit for blowing off steam. And he wonders why he has trouble with keeping a social life. "They have a new exhibit, and they're open for quite a while. I think-"

"Just let me fetch my shoes." Dorian's up and off the sofa before Cullen fully knows it, and while his own feet are sore from a day spent standing and walking, he could always use more exercise. The important thing is that Dorian's distracted, or at least relieved of some stress, and when Cullen started caring about that, he can't say. "Are you still sitting?" There's Dorian again, and Cullen doesn't know how he managed to do it so quickly, but his hair's back in its perfect coif. He has one groomed eyebrow lifted expectantly, and the blonde sits up from the couch, earning a flash of a smile from Dorian. He's stuck between wishing he'd do it longer and never again, because he can't control the way a flare of heat warms his skin in response.

He can't be doing this again.

"Off we go, then! I'm looking forward to see what you southerners have wrong this time."

"You mean the moon isn't made of cheese?" As he goes for the door, keys in hand, he hears Dorian mock gasp.

"Are you sassing me? Is that what's happening here?" He bites his cheek, but he knows he can't curb the smile.  
  
"Is that what I'm doing? I didn't realize."

* * *

When they arrive at the museum (The Institute of History, specifically) they manage to catch one of the very last tours for the evening, paired with three others. One of them stares dubiously at the band around Dorian's wrist, and when she lifts her gaze, she startles. Not for no reason, of course- Cullen may or may not be glaring in her general direction. Their first destination is through the wildlife halls, long stretches of exhibits with stuffed creatures, from nugs -which were a favorite of a queen, apparently- to brontos, and a longer stop at a halla display that the guide seems to be very passionate about.

Cullen doesn't pay too much attention to the exhibits, however; every so often he glances over at Dorian, attempting to gauge whether he's enjoying this or not, and sometimes he does look interested, but other times he has a faraway set to his features. At one point, when the discussion of deepstalkers' existing or not goes too...deep, he pulls on Dorian's elbow, separating them both from the tour, partly because the one woman continues to send wary glances Dorian's way, and partly because he knows the vampire's lost interest. "I think there's something over here you might like," he explains, when Dorian gives him a questioning look, and even though he knows he can follow, Cullen doesn't release his arm until they're both standing in front of the display.

It's a collection of classic texts, many of them missing their covers, and several, despite how carefully preserved, are fading. When he turns to Dorian again, it's to find him absorbed in the translations they have available, printed next to each book, and they're both quiet for several long moments, long enough that when the vampire does speak, it nearly startles the blonde. "They didn't correctly transcribe this piece here." He has a slim digit pointing at the section in question, but considering Cullen can't read any of the archaic languages, he doesn't have anything to reply with, other than an inquiring hm. "This verb. They have translated it to mean 'bury' in a more literal sense, but it's actually figurative. To surpass, for instance. It changes the meaning completely."

They carry on like that, Dorian reading over the texts and providing Cullen with far too many incorrect translations than there should be, and finally, he can't help but to ask, "why are they so misinformed?" That might not be a question for someone who isn't the museum curator, yet unsurprisingly, Dorian answers nonetheless.

"Not many are willing to give accurate translations."

"And by many you mean..."  
  
"Vampires, yes." Dorian faces him, turning away from the display case. "Humans can learn the language, but they will not be as skilled without instruction of the very people who speak it originally."

"Why wouldn't they be willing?" At that, Dorian laughs.

"You're joking." Cullen shakes his head, frowning slightly. "Vampires are rare in these parts. We prefer to keep to ourselves, for the most part. You could say I am the black sheep." There's more to that last remark than him living here, and Cullen thinks back to the conversation on the phone. Did that have something to do with Dorian living away? "We're stingy, and what petty information we can keep our greedy hands on, we don't release easily, so you have cases like this one, with improper translations. This isn't so severe, but you know some translations have more uses than sitting in a museum."

Cullen's never truly considered that issue before. After everything that happened, he kept his nose out of anything vampire related, and even when he believed all had settled, he didn't dare go nosing around. It's best he did, even if it kept him out of the dark, because Cullen can't afford to be incapacitated the way he was last night on a more daily basis.

"But enough of that. I have an idea."

"Oh, no."

"It's a wonderful idea, actually, involving a three letter word." The blonde waits for him to elaborate, but when he doesn't, he realizes he's supposed to guess.

"Car? Cat? Hat?" Dorian snorts, and while it's at Cullen's expense, he's glad to hear the sound nonetheless.

" _Bar._ " The moment the first consonant leaves his mouth, the blonde is shaking his head in a firm no, but when he opens his mouth, Dorian barrels over him, saying, "It's Friday night, Cullen, as you said. When is the last time you had fun?"

"Before you came." He didn't mean for it to be so harsh, and it sounded better in his head, the kind of teasing that should be reserved for closer friends, and yet the vampire's laughing again, folding a hand to his chest and grasping an invisible wound.

"By fun, I mean 'alcohol, and a lack of grading papers.'" Cullen exhales, folding his arms over his chest, but he knows he's beaten already, just as he knew with Trevelyan. "Let your hair down a bit."

"All right, all right. But there's only one bar worth the drive."

"We only _need_ one bar." 


End file.
